


The Taint

by SeraphSiren



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apostates (Dragon Age), Corruption, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Grey Wardens, Near Death Experiences, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 13:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphSiren/pseuds/SeraphSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair had tasked the most cunning of the Trevelyans with something he could leave to nobody else. While on her quest Irene Trevelyan survives the conclave to become the Herald of Andraste. She's stripped of the life and very identity she held dear, pledging herself to the Inquisition's cause. And yet Alistair insisted she complete her quest for a king and country that was never truly her own. Irene obliges King Alistair as best she can while still heeding to what the Inquisition needs of her. </p><p>But when faced with what it will truly take to complete her quest, Irene forces those around her to question her ability to wield her newfound power responsibly. What nobody knew, however, was that her quest for the king and her duty to all of Thedas was one in the same. Soon she'd find herself hunted by the man who'd professed his love for Irene and very organization she leads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodnight, Irene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome. Never fear, as I'll always be my harshest critic!

**9:42 Dragon**

Irene could only croak in pain as her hands dug into the sand. The mark hissed loudly in tune with the pulsing agony that screamed though her.

“Shit shit!” the familiar sound of Elissa panted. Irene felt Elissa’s forearms hook under her underarms as she was dragged into their tent. “Your mark’s gonna give us away. They’ll see you from Griffon Wing Keep!”

“I…. can’t...” Irene pleaded.

Elissa’s voice softened as she let Irene down in the tent. “I know, I know.” She wiped her friend’s forehead. Irene’s eyes were almost entirely bloodshot, her face strikingly gaunt. In such a short time her skin was now entirely ashen. Elissa could not lie to herself about what was happening to her friend. “Irene,” she cooed, propping her up. “You will not end here, I promise you.”

Elissa kept talking but Irene couldn’t understand the rest of Elissa’s words. By Elissa’s tone Irene knew she was needlessly trying to comfort her. She felt herself drown under a foul wrongness that was creeping through her veins. It was like the sting of frostbite had met a hot blade, firing up her senses in the worst way with each heartbeat. It was too much to bear and she felt herself go under just to escape it.

When she woke her body buzzed all over with the same foul ache, her shoulder being the epicenter of her pain. It was painful to open her eyes as she felt her hand in someone else’s.

“You were only out for a few minutes,” she heard Elissa remark. Her voice was low and tired. “You’re in too much pain to sleep soundly.”

“What… is happening?” Irene muttered through her pain, squeezing the hand that held hers. Elissa was kneeled down beside Irene, her pack pulled close while she rummaged with her free hand.

Elissa could hardly muster the strength to look at Irene. Her face was becoming gaunter by the hour; the telltale tendrils of the taint beginning to form on her cheeks.

“Those Darkspawn back there,” she began before momentarily biting her lip. “They infected you.” Elissa choked back a sob, looking away as tears welled up. “It’s the taint.”

“I don’t remember…” she wheezed, instinctively moving to clutch the source of pain on the back of her shoulder.

“I know you don’t, Irene,” she cooed, squeezing her hand. “You stabbed a Hurlock with its own blade. In its dying breath the creature pulled it out and managed strike you on your shoulder.”

“How bad is it?” Her friend looked away. It told Irene all she needed to know, but she insisted. “Elissa…” Irene began a panicky pant.

“The wound is superficial.” She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip in poorly concealed panic. “The Hurlock was too weak to hit you hard. But the blade...”

Elissa could hear the wind get knocked out of Irene. “Covered in the blood of the darkspawn,” Irene concluded for her. Elissa nodded, her eyes squeezing shut. Irene shut her eyes with her, clenching her teeth against the foul feeling that was encapsulating her body. Against her sweat-drenched forehead were Elissa’s calloused fingers making their way through Irene’s hair. Irene tried to focus on the soft crackle of the campfire outside and the soft singing of crickets in the night.

“You collapsed with a fever soon after we found a place to make camp. It’s taking effect so quickly.” Elissa shook her head, as if trying to shake away what she hoped was just a bad dream.

“What are my options?”

“You’ve only got one.”  Elissa sighed as Irene didn’t answer. “I can prepare it with the blood of the darkspawn that infected you.”

There was no hesitation, as there was nowhere else to go. “Then do it.”

“I’ll never let you forgive me, Irene.” As Irene remained in a pained silence, Elissa pulled out the bottle of blood, a vial of lyrium, and her vial of what little archdemon blood she could bear to keep on her person.

Elissa inspected the ingredients, remembering how little time she had to think before she took her own drink from the chalice during her joining. She had been orphaned mere days before only to be taken in by Duncan so briefly. When she awoke, her world was on the brink of catastrophe. And here she was, cradling the world’s savior in her lap, praying to the maker that she could patch up the mistake she’d made by dragging Irene down with her in this foolish endeavor to cure herself.

Elissa turned to her ingredients. “Keep speaking while I work,” she instructed.

There was a short laugh out of the Inquisitor. It was more of an upbeat exhale. “Did I ever tell you how I met your husband?”

Elissa already knew of Alistair’s tale of the noble Marcher who’d keep him company in Redcliffe’s stables during his childhood. “I haven’t. Tell me about the young Alistair.” Irene slowly breathed in, visibly pained by even doing so.

“My father had brought me to Castle Redcliffe as a very young child. I slipped away from my handler to visit our horses in the stables.” She made a pained laugh before falling into a brief wheeze. Elissa began to gently pour the lyrium into the bottle of blood, careful to not let it splash. “Poor father, he never found someone who could truly keep up with me.” Elissa looked to find that Irene was looking up at the tent ceiling, wide-eyed with tears running down the sides of her face. She turned back to her bottle, preparing with caution before adding the drop of archdemon blood.

“I didn’t want to leave the stables so I climbed up into the rafters to hide from one of my father’s men sent to collect me.” Irene was grinning with a silent laugh she couldn’t muster out anymore. “When it was time to climb down, I realized I was far too afraid to do it by myself.” Elissa looked solemnly at the bottle, watching the lyrium twinkle from within the blood. Her vision threatened to blur as tears welled up while listening to Irene. “That auburn-haired stable boy found me. It wasn’t before he teased me relentlessly that he helped me down.”

The mixture was ready. Elissa maneuvered herself behind Irene, propping her back up against Elissa’s chest as Irene whined against her handling. “You have to drink all of this. There’s enough for one person and you must take it all.” Irene nodded, leaning back into Elissa.

The queen of Ferelden took the bottle with one hand and wrapped the Inquisitor’s hand around it with her own free hand.

“I was so excited when I got Alistair’s letter that he was to become a Warden,” Irene said as she looked down the bottle, grimacing in pain. “He seemed more hopeful than I’d ever witnessed before. But I feared I’d never see him again. I promised him a place with the Trevelyans if he ever needed it, but that never came to pass.” Irene brought up her other hand to the bottle, tracing the rim with her finger as she thought.

“I didn’t see him again until I reclaimed Redcliffe from Alexius.” The hot tears rolling down her tainted skin felt soothing and momentarily wonderful. “He was regal and angry... and still…” She grunted though her pain best she could. “… still so kind… were his eyes when he saw me…” In a sudden jolt, Irene squeezed the bottle in her hands as she cried out again in agony.

Elissa wrapped her arms around her, cooing softly. “Shhh. You can see him again. Just get through this.” The mark screamed with Irene, violently clashing with the taint. For a long minute she wailed, holding on to the bottle for dear life.

Her voice was hoarse by the time she could reign in her uncontrolled sobs. “If I don’t wake up,” she gasped out and gulped. “Find Cullen. He must know I am so sorry for the heartache I caused him.”

“Irene I promise…”

“And tell the Inquisition…”

“They’ll know,” Elissa interjected. “They’d understand. Cullen will understand. I promise you.” She held the bottle steady, her hands around Irene’s. “But you’ll never have a chance to tell them yourself if you don’t go through with the joining.”

Irene inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. She put the bottle to her lips and poured the life-saving curse down her throat.

It did not burn like a strong spirit or foul medicine. It did not even burn like she imagined drinking fire would. It was like the hottest of dry ash that smelled of decay. So badly did her body want to choke it back up and accept the sentence of death. She couldn’t do that now. It was too late to take back anything, and she had so much to go back to.

Trembling she dropped the empty bottle. “Elissa,” she croaked. The queen grasped her hands, tucking her head in the crook of Irene’s neck to offer comfort. “I will see you…” She finally felt the sweet release of feeling herself lose consciousness, relishing in the hope of some relief from this torture. “…in the morning.”

Elissa felt the Inquisitor go limp in her arms. Her breathing was shallow and unsteady. There was little to do now but wait. She maneuvered out from behind Irene, laying her down on the cot. The mark on her hand pulsed intensely but was no longer in a violent fit.

Sitting cross-legged Elissa stared at the quiet Inquisitor, hoping for the best but still imagining how she’d tell Cullen that she’d gone. Or how she might to be able to bear the weight of seeing Leliana’s pain when Elissa would have to tell her that the Inquisitor died of the taint. And what would Alistair say when he found out that his childhood friend perished under her care?

Elissa sat at Irene’s side until there was some semblance of a peaceful look on her face. It was then that there was nothing more Elissa could do but begin her watch. She began to make her way outside, turning back briefly to whisper, “Goodnight, Irene.”

 


	2. Where We're Going

**9:41 Dragon**

The Queen of Ferelden was a well-traveled woman. Along the well beaten paths of southern Thedas, Elissa Cousland was hardly recognizable to her subjects in her worn leathers and tattered cloak. Her red hair was cropped and a new scar marred her freckled face from the bridge of her nose down to her jaw. It was angry and pink, tingling in the cold air of the Frostback Mountains. Elissa regretted the haircut. Her warm long hair was sorely missed in the bitter wind.

She’d only gone up the mountain path to Haven once in her life, but she remembered every mile along the way. Her mind filled with the memories of the trek up and stops along the way. She remembered the nightmares she’d suffer during the blight and how they were particularly bad in the mountains near the temple. If she were to be returning to where they were the worst, Elissa wondered if it would worsen the nightmares and whispers coming from the young stages of her calling.

The little village looked quite a bit different after a decade and the temple, built upon the discovery of Andraste’s Ashes, was grand with an opulent piety about it. It almost felt wrong to be sneaking about the place; what, with Leliana around it even seemed rude. The left and right hands of the Divine were already in Haven preparing for the conclave. The village was bustling with hired workers setting up accommodations for the next week’s visitors and the tavern had overflowed with strangers hoping for a successful meeting between the mages and Templars.

Elissa wasn’t so sure about the whole matter. She was neither mage or templar. Her husband had described his time as a recruit for them before he left to join the Wardens. As he explained it, templars were leashed with lyrium the Chantry gave them and mages were so feared that their personhood was stripped away and their lives were spent in mage circles. That was a gross simplification of the matter, she knew. But if anything, she concluded, both parties were severely damaged but not by each other. The only qualms she felt a need to hold were against the Chantry itself, not the people it pushed into desperation.

In the village she posed as a mercenary scouting out the area and situation for her employer, asking about accommodations and routes to the temple. In truth, she was looking for Grey Wardens. Everyone she’d known in the order had gone silent. And her contacts in the Anderfels were too far away for her to safely contact from a distance regarding such a serious matter. Going there herself was impractical, as she knew from just making the journey back. When she’d casually inquire about the Wardens they’d respond that nobody had seen them _themselves_ , but knew of hearsay that they were at the temple or had been staying in the village. Every lead she was given went cold; nobody saw them in the temple or village lately nor were they known to stay in one spot. It was just a matter of time before the wrong person would recognize her, and so she had to leave.

Through the crowd she entered the tavern and carefully traversed up to the barkeep. A woman with short brown hair greeted her as she wiped down the counter.

“An ale, please,” Elissa requested in a gravelly and parched voice, pulling out several coins from the bag inside her jacket. “And some food for the road, my time here is short.” She kept her hood up, looking like a typical tired and grouchy patron with her shoulders hunched. With all of the laborers around, her demeanor fit in. “Is the left hand here?” she asked when the woman had her back to her.

The barkeep spoke as she turned andd put an ale in front of her, “She’s around. Often running between the temple and village.” Elissa took a drink. “You look like you could be sister to the Divine’s left hand, ya know.” Elissa grinned widely at the woman’s name dropping and commentary. Alistair would say the same thing during their travels, swearing that the two women, thick as thieves, must have been separated sisters. “Ya got the same freckles. Don’t suppose you’ve got the same hair?” She nodded, briefly revealing the short hair under her hood.

“You know the left hand?” Elissa asked picking the ale back up.

“Oh yes, quite well.” The barkeep began to gather some cheese and bread for Elissa as she spoke. “Was runnin’ an inn up in Denerim, and she’d drop by often. Later she asked if I wanted to come here and own my own tavern.” Elissa smiled at her story. Leliana knew a good asset when she saw one. If this barkeep was willing to follow Leliana into the Frostbacks just to run a tavern, she was worth every accommodation Leliana was giving her. While Elissa’s journey to Haven was to investigate the whereabouts of her Wardens, it was also much to do with her own curiosity and some sentimentality. And with the help of a barkeep that probably didn’t have the foresight to alert any of Sister Leliana’s agents in time, she’d be able to complete her task with a window to leave before an attempt to find her was made.

“How fortuitous,” she began, her voice low but kind. “I must make haste and won’t be able to speak with her, but I do have a letter for Sister Leliana.” Elissa pulled a sealed envelope out to show the other woman, offering it to her. She’d planned on sneaking it in somewhere she’d find it or handing it off to a Chantry sister who didn’t know any better. This would do better. “It is of the upmost importance, and she will know who it is from the moment she sees it, I assure you.”

“Ah, I suppose I can play messenger this once.” She held the letter, inspecting the wax seal. Elissa kept an eye on the girl, looking for any sign that she was signaling someone in the room or tipping off one of Leliana’s people. “I suspect this is a matter that requires subtlety. You look like a woman of business, as careworn as you look.” Elissa nodded.

“Here, a few coins for your trouble.” Elissa handed over a few more coins to the barkeep. She promptly finished her ale and gathered her food, shuffling out of the tavern. It was only midday, leaving her with much time to make her way back down the mountains into Ferelden. With her horse gathered from the stables Elissa made her way down the road.

Before she made it to the bridge, she groaned under her breath at a sudden pain in her head –no—her mind. Gingerly she held her forehead, cradling herself through the screeching of the old gods prying at her being. She appeared to be right about the mountains amplifying what was trying to torture her very inner being, and it cried out louder to her as she left. Wanting little more than to get out as soon as she could, Elissa jumped onto her horse, kicking it into a gallop.

Elissa dared to look back at the village and out toward the temple on the mountain while the horse whisked her away. Wishing the village goodbye under hear teeth-chattering breath, Elissa began praying that the conclave not end in more bloodshed. Truly, Elissa hoped the world could make itself safe once more without her help.

~*~*~*~

 

Leliana sat in the back room of the Chantry; a large table nearby was covered in a map of southern Thedas. Everything was already set up for their contingency plan–the Inquisition— should negotiations fail. She couldn’t bring herself to try and predict an outcome, but she could have a plan for each possible outcome. The worst case scenario, as far as she could determine, would be that nobody could come to an agreement and the war raged on, including the bouts of violence during negotiations and the expected attempts at espionage between factions. Of course, she also had plans for each potential death of a key member of each side, and a few combination of deaths just to be sure. This was Leliana’s element, her expertise. And even in the best of circumstances her expertise was needed.

Seeker Pentaghast stood hunched over the table muttering about tactics with Cullen Rutherford, a now former Knight Captain of Kirkwall. He was still acclimating to the mountains and protocol of the Conclave that was soon to come. To accompany his tired look, his curly blonde hair was tossled and he was beginning to get a beard, as he hadn’t consistently groomed himself since leaving the Free Marches. The Seeker and former Templar remained too embroiled in regards to something on the map to notice Leliana taking something out of her coat.

In her hand was a letter Flissa the barkeep had given her. It was sealed with a Chantry symbol but no Chantry official would go through the barkeep to send a message to her. Gently, she broke the seal of the envelope. A pressed rose petal fluttered out when Leliana took the letter from the envelope. Gingerly she picked it up from the stone floor, taking care to not crush the brittle petal between her nimble fingers.

The letter was written hastily, but the script was still elegant and careful. Some of the ink was even smeared a little, perhaps from the writer’s clumsy urgency.

 

_Old Friend,_

_I write to you from a tent outside Haven that a merchant let me take shelter in until the top of the next hour with stationary I nicked from the Chantry while I went to pay my respects. I humbly request that you please do not punish any merchant who is caught with one of your sets._

_Let me be the first to tell you that nearly all of my Warden contacts in Orlais and western Ferelden have gone missing. This deafening silence makes me wonder if it’s safe for the likes of me to cross Orlais into the Anderfels to seek out more help. With the Conclave a week away I fear this is not merely circumstantial. Even those who are supposed to be going to the conclave have not responded, and I have not found them here in Haven, even though they have been spotted. I’m not sure if their silence is unrelated to recent events, or if it has everything to do with it. In either circumstance, you should know. Keep your wits about you._

_I’ve begun to feel the slightest inklings of the calling. At least, I believe it’s the calling. Everything about what I hear and feel are reminiscent of the night terrors I’d wake up from during the blight. I’d rather face the calling than the world having to face another blight, however. It’s only been a decade, I fear. My love said it’s usually twenty years, but sometimes sooner. I do not fear it, however. It pushes me harder to complete my quest._

_My search has been sparingly fruitful so far, and the substantial things I do find honestly unsettle me. I swore I’d go to any length to find a cure for the blight, but when presented with the lengths I’d be required to go, I question my conviction even with the calling biting at the surface of my mind. And so I must keep travelling. I ask that you do not try to find me, purely out of courtesy to my quest. I know I can’t outrun you._

_Please send my dearest husband my love and the rose petal enclosed with this letter. Sending letters to the palace in Denerim myself may reveal me too quickly. He will know it’s me and that I’m still out there. Do not inform him of my condition._

_I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where we’re going. I just know I am fearful of when we arrive._

_Andraste be with you my friend._

_-E_

Loudly she exhaled, pressing the letter to her chest in relief.

“Something wrong, Leliana?” Cullen asked.

Without skipping a beat, she deadpanned, “Confirmation of a false alarm down in the valley.” Cassandra and Cullen nodded and went back to their business.

Leliana remembered the day King Alistair said that she’d gone. Elissa was… _is_ her dearest friend; the only person she’d feel secure with completely. The few vague missives she’d send back never quelled the fear that something might have happened to her friend. Until now, she’d been silent for a year. To have her reappear with only bad news so close to such an auspicious event filled her with dread.

Cassandra would want to know that the Hero of Ferelden was in Haven. She’d tell Leliana to find her, since the Champion of Kirkwall was nowhere to be found. The Inquisition needed a leader, and Elissa, even as a queen, would more than do. She supposed that it was wrong of her to not have immediately sent out her agents to scour the area before she’d gone too far. It was an interesting conflict: betray Elissa to drag her unwillingly into service in early signs of a calling, or betray the needs of the Divine. But if Elissa was an unwilling participant, would she truly be of use to all of them?

No, she wouldn’t, Leliana concluded. Elissa’s life had often involved unwilling service. Leliana could not do it again to her friend. Even deploying her agents to at least sweep the area would give away too much. She decided to tear up the letter up to be used as kindling in the hearth at the tavern. The rose petal went back into the envelope before getting tucked away in Leliana’s jacket. She could not deny Alistair the peace of knowing that his queen was alive.

And what to do with the news of the Wardens? Elissa’s calling? What would she say when the Divine or Cassandra ask about her source? Lie, she supposed. It was best to not ask the left hand of the Divine questions anyway.

Cassandra addressed Leliana before she could leave. “We’re a mere week away, Sister Leliana. Have you received word on further arrivals for the Conclave?”

She nodded after straightening her jacket and looking up at the Seeker. “A member of the dwarven House Cadash has arrived. Their eldest son, Jader Cadash is the one here. Here to spy, of course. Not sure who it is that has him in their pocket, but House Cadash is not as cutthroat as their carta counterparts. I don’t think it will be too hard to us to convince him into assisting us, so long as we can promise to not tell his employer.”

Cassandra leaned against the table with her arms folded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Varric knew him. Someone more convincing than I should talk to him. If he’s going to hang about Haven we might as well ask him to do something lest he writes another novel full of smut.” Cullen let out a low chuckle from across the table.

She turned and let out a disgruntled snort at Cullen. “Not a word…”

“I didn’t make one!” he defended, smiling as he held up his hands.

“Anyways!” Leliana interjected, waving her hand dismissively. “The Valo-Kas mercenary group is here, ahead of their reported charge, as it seems.”

Cullen briefly looked up at Leliana. “Who is their charge?” he asked.

“Lady Trevelyan on behalf of her father. Not sure where she is at the moment or when she’ll get here. Typical illusive Trevelyan style, as I’ve heard. She’s the product of generations of skilled rogues with a pedigree of sharp tongues. I’m sure she could run circles around her father when it comes to matters such as the Conclave”

“An interesting noble? Say it isn’t so,” Cullen deadpanned. His voice feigning concern, Cullen quickly followed up. “No offense, Cassandra.”

She rolled her eyes. “I enjoy mocking frivolous lifestyles more than you do,” she responded with flat pride.

Ignoring the banter Leliana continued. “Bann Trevelyan means business when he sends his daughter out, as it seems. Valo-Kas is all Tal-Vashoth from the Free Marches. I’m going to bet he also sent out at least half a dozen of his rogues.”

“I doubt this will be a gathering without incident,” Cassandra commented. “I don’t think it’s overkill of Bann Trevelyan to do so. And Lady Trevelyan can’t possibly think she won’t attract attention.”

Leliana digested Cassandra’s comment, taking a mental note to investigate the Lady and her mercenaries. “And the first to the Lavellan clan has arrived. He’s been spotted wandering Haven and the trails between here and the temple. Not too chatty, but otherwise has been helpful and friendly to anyone he comes across that’s in need.”

“Are there any other Dalish representatives?” the Seeker asked. “I know they often don’t care for ‘shem’ affairs, but this war must have hit them, too.”

“Only really a handful. Depends on the clan. Clan Lavellan has always traded with outsiders anyway.” She walked over to the map and pointed to a spot east of Val Royeaux. “Last my sources heard, they were all the way nearly into the Free Marches. Don’t know why they’d head even remotely in the direction of Kirkwall, however. Perhaps it’s nothing. It’s certainly not my concern right now. Simply something of note.”

“Speaking of Kirkwall…” Cassandra initiated.

“I don’t know where Hawke is,” Leliana stated calmly, resisting a frustrated sigh. She’d exhausted so many Chantry resources to find the woman. The search was so fruitless that Leliana would have given up if the divine hadn’t insisted that she continue. “If Varric still doesn’t know or won’t tell, then I’m out of leads.” She was honestly annoyed that her agents had turned up nothing.

“And the Hero of Ferelden?” the Seeker asked. “Do we know where she’s gone?”

Leliana’s response was flat and believable. “Haven’t heard from her.” Her lack of eye contact was executed in a way that made her look annoyed by a fruitless search. Leliana was very good at lying.

Leliana prayed the Seeker didn’t suspect anything, despite her confidence in her abilities. Cassandra was eyeing Denerim on the map of Ferelden. “And when she left, she hadn’t even told Alistair where she was going?”

“If she did, Alistair felt compelled to not tell me.” She pursed her lips and shook her head once.

Cullen sighed, softly pinching the bridge of his nose as he often did. She was convinced his curly hair was becoming more undone by the minute without him even touching it. The poor man was getting frazzled by _something_ and Leliana suspected it was at least from trying to get his head around the politics of the Conclave. He was never really one to display patience with those who use too many words.

He began, “We’ve still got to find an Inquisitor. We should at least have a contingency plan if we don’t find someone in time, should the worst come to pass.”

“Cassandra, I wish you’d consider it,” Leliana whined, leaning in towards her with a pleading look.

Cassandra dropped her fist to the table, “Maker, no.” Her voice was low and annoyed as she waved Leliana off. “What about Josephine?”

Cullen retorted, “She does the job of five people already and we haven’t even officially declared the Inquisition reinstated. And besides!” Cassandra groaned to herself and Cullen ignored it. “She could take care of the delicate verbal work for you.”

She turned to the nightingale. “You could do it, Leliana!” Cassandra pleaded.

“Too many bodies and nobody else you’d trust to hide them, you know that.” Leliana crossed her arms, digging her heels in. “I’d be of more use if I remained the left hand.” She moved her gaze to Cullen. “Well, you know what would make for a great Inquisitor? An honorable former Templar fighting for peace among his former charges and brethren.”

“Absolutely not! I won’t be part of your redemption fantasy,” he said, shaking his head profusely as he walked away from the both of them. “And Cassandra,” he said with a finger pointed to her. “You know exactly why I can’t pick up that mantle.”

“That’s a bollocks excuse.” She had her hands on her hips, looking sternly to him. “You’ll be _fine_.”

Bewildered, Leliana jumped in with, “What? Why can’t he do it, Seeker?”

“Noooo…” Cullen interrupted before Cassandra could open her mouth. She gaped a little at him, clearly trying hard not to roll her eyes. It was almost playful in how the pair went about their argument. But there was still a twinkle of desperation in his eyes, Leliana noted, to stop the Seeker for divulging anything. “No!” Cassandra raised her hands up to argue. “No. Don’t tell her.”

“Don’t tell me what?” she snapped back, glaring at Cullen, who was glaring at Cassandra.

“Fine,” Cassandra sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “She’ll figure it out herself, you know.”

“I do know, but not now!” he hissed, hands balled into fists. “And this conversation has brought us nowhere.”

Holding her hands behind her back, Leliana conceded, “He’s right. We’ll resume this later.” Her companions nodded and resumed their work; Cullen going through a stack of reports and Cassandra studying the latest reports from the fighting between Templars and mages. Leliana excused herself.

She had a message for King Alistair she needed to send and a letter from Queen Elissa to burn.


	3. My Father’s Eyes, My Mother’s Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of an identity crisis, to say in the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably read chapters like these a billion times before. As it turns out, they're great for getting the hang of writing existing characters, as well as your own Inquisitor. I kept this as off script as I could to keep things fresh.

**Dragon 9:41**

 

In the small dungeon below Haven’s chantry, Solas worked quietly at the side of a sleeping woman with bright white hair and a glowing green hand. She’d been thrust out of a rift left in the wake of an explosion. Everyone in the Temple of Sacred Ashes attending the Conclave had died, save her. The seeker and spymaster had already searched the woman thoroughly, finding a few clues to go on; paperwork on her person and jewelry, mainly. He didn’t think much about what they found. He was more concerned with far more pressing matters about this woman.

From the moment the commander’s men found her toppled over in the temple ruins, the glowing mark on her left hand had been nothing but unkind to the woman. Her olive skin had become so ashen that Solas initially thought he was looking at a corpse. The men swore she had long dark hair when she’d fallen over after returning to Thedas, but it had gone from dark to grey to white during the journey from the temple down to Haven. The hair on her knuckles and arms, even her eyelashes, were snowy white against her olive skin.

As she slept on her cot he picked up her left hand with great care, inspecting the green mark on her hand. It looked like a quick gash from a knife on her palm, pouring out green magic instead of crimson blood. Each time the breach quivered or expanded the woman would be briefly lifted out of unconsciousness and into a screaming fit of pain. So exhausted was this woman that she fell back into unconsciousness the moment the mark let up enough to give her some relief.

It was killing her; he could see that much. As he explained it to the Seeker, Solas called upon the spirits nearby that were whispering of the fade to him to suppress the mark’s effects best he could. Thanks to his efforts, with each subsequent pulse the mark would scream out, the woman was roused from sleep less dramatically. He wondered if his efforts were paying off or if she was just losing the strength to even cry out.

He resolved to stay optimistic considering he could still hear magic sing through the woman, telling him she was at least alive. Everything he could feel from her was loud and scared, not sure what to make of the thing on her hand that was causing so much pain. Upon discovering the magic running through her veins, Solas noted that she certainly didn’t look like a mage. There didn’t seem to be any enchantments woven into her clothes and if she had a staff it was long since destroyed in the explosion. Leliana had even mentioned that she found throwing knives and daggers on her. She was dressed in the leathers of a well-funded rogue.

If his suppression of the mark was going to continue to work, Solas wouldn’t know it until later. He resolved to report back to the seeker; she’d want to know that her prisoner was a mage. As he left her Solas gave the guards instructions on what to watch for and to alert him if she manages to wake up and stay up.

He left the dungeon for the ground level of the chantry. Corners of the main hall were reserved for the gravely wounded. Mages and surgeons huddled over broken bodies, whispering and chanting; casting and mending. Even from inside the stone structure Solas could hear the sounds of desperate fighting, amplified by the walls of the valley outside. He proceeded to the back of the building where much of the coordination had been conducted in the last couple of days. He could hear the low rumble of voices discussing gravitational matters on the other side of the large door.

He knocked on the door. Someone responded with a loud and firm, “Enter!”

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast awaited him on the other side. She stood weary but mighty behind the large table. Dark circles marred her eyes, but they did not cease to provide so piercing a stare. Her armor was muddy and hair tussled. On the other side of the table was Sister Leliana; the late divine’s left hand as he understood it. She had rosy cheeks and short hair a shade of bright auburn. Leliana too, was looking haggard.

“Solas, what is the prisoner’s condition?” Cassandra asked, not looking up from a map of the valley that Lelilana was placing markers on.

“Unconscious but stable.” The elf paced around the table to her side. “The mark is still erratic but for now does not appear to be endangering her life at the pace it once was.”

“That is unfortunately been the most optimistic thing I’ve heard all day,” she grumbled, pushing herself back from the table. “Leliana, I don’t suppose we’ve properly identified this woman?”

Leliana looked up from the map, putting her hands behind her back. “No. We know she at least works as one of the rogues under the care of the Trevelyans.” Leliana produced a pendant from her coat and handed it across the table to Cassandra. Solas peered over to see it. The pendant was a simple coat of arms, the portrait of a noble Clydesdale horse on a silver chain.

Cassandra folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, staring at Ostwick on another map laid out on the table. “I know of the Trevelyan rogues. Odd they’d let their people out wearing the family’s coat of arms.”

“She could be the Bann’s daughter, or his daughter’s bodyguard. Last I heard Lady Trevelyan was wearing winter furs, not combat leathers and weapons. Nobody got a great look at her face, either. Her mercenaries were constantly in the way.” Leliana reached back to take the pendant from Cassandra. “That said, Trevelyan rogues are not easy to spot if they’re out doing questionable work. And to be fair, I also knew what to look for.”

The Trevelyan rogues were a keen bunch lead by Bann Maxwell Trevelyan and his children. Often they were in the employ of nobles across Thedas to carry out any inconvenient work they needed done. They didn’t take just any contract, either. One had to justify a job to them. There were always questions to be asked, as the Bann did not want to upset the balance of power or incriminate himself too heavily in any of his dealings. Cassandra assumed that they’d lose all business to the Antivan Crows, since _they_ didn’t ask around. And yet, this institution persisted.

Cassandra ran her fingers through her hair in contemplation. “Should we suspect them to be behind this?”

“Hard to say. Bann Trevelyan is generally out for a profit. Not anything like this. Too risky. Not something you’d send your people to do while wearing your colors, let alone your own child.” Leliana shook her head. “I can’t imagine something pushing him to be so bold. That said, the hair is not helping the matter. Perhaps she is just posing as one of them? It’s hard to pin her down as anyone I know of who works for the Trevelyans. As Solas said, as we all suspected in the first place, it isn’t natural; a side effect of her trip through the rift.” He nodded, confirming Leliana’s report.

Solas turned to Cassandra. “I have discovered more about your prisoner.” She nodded for him to continue. “I am almost certain she is a mage. Likely an apostate who has never been to one of your circles.”

Cassandra’s lip curled slightly before she looked to Leliana. “Did you know…?”

She was biting her lip, eyes wide as her head shook from side to side. “His daughter a mage? No.”

Cassandra briefly wrung her hands before she snapped back to a stern poise she’d often carry. “Send a message to the commander to spare more Templars to watch the prisoner.” Leliana nodded, beginning to jot down a note she’d pass along later.

“However, Seeker,” Solas began, holding out his hand. “The magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. She’s a mage, and what you consider an apostate, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having that kind of power.”

“I… understand.” Her tone was slightly disappointed. She wanted justice and someone to blame. Solas could understand her desire to mount up all the evidence she could against the woman. There would probably be no stopping Cassandra from believing the woman was at fault for all of this until there was solid proof she wasn’t. Nonetheless he’d settle for protecting the sleeping woman best he could until she awoke.

Leliana slipped outside to gather Templars for the prisoner. Solas continued when the door shut. “Whatever magic that caused the breach has also placed the mark on her hand. As the breach grows, the mark grows. As we took her down from the temple, passing nearby rifts caused the mark to react.”

Solas saw Cassandra’s eyes widen, pupils wide with hope. “What are you getting at, Solas?”

“I believe the mark can be used to close the rifts,” he explained, pointing at the rift markers on the valley map. “…or can at least affect them like they affect it.”

“And perhaps the breach itself…” she said, digesting the implications of Solas’s theory.

“Possibly, yes. But without the power necessary to do it isn’t something we have on hand right now.”

“This is true.” Cassandra crossed her arms as she began to pace around the table. “If you truly believe what you say, take care of the prisoner best you can. Let’s hope she wakes soon. We’re running on borrowed time and dwindling forces.”

With a silent nod Solas excused himself and went back to take care of the white haired prisoner.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The first thing she remembered feeling was cool air on her face. The first thing she heard was a soft rustling of fabric and gentle footsteps. A stone ceiling, old and worn, was what she first saw after gingerly opening her eyes. Wherever she was, it was dark and she was in pain. Her arm ached as though she’d been lifting sacks of rocks for a whole day straight. Slowly she curled her fingers into a fist and wiggled her toes.

“You’ve been unconscious a good while,” someone said. The voice was serene and knowing. She turned her head to find an elven man sitting next to her, his gaunt face was weary but kind. The sound of metal armor clanking echoed into the space. She sat up hurriedly, finding two guards racing to her. She gasped but the man next to her put a hand on her shoulder and held up his other hand in front of him, signaling the guards to stop. They did and she relaxed even though they stood ready to draw their swords.

Only now did she take in her surroundings. She was in a cell on a cot, seemingly deep in an unfamiliar dungeon.

He spoke again. “What is your name?”

She tried to speak, but instead croaked. He turned to pick up a cup of water to offer her. Greedily she gulped down the water, some of it running down her neck. Her eyes suddenly widened as she noticed a faint green glow in her peripherals.

Almost dropping the cup on her lap she held out her left hand, gaping in terror and her breathing panicked. Coming through what looked like a bloodless gash on her palm was a bright green glow. It pulsed gently with each trembling breath. She coughed briefly, choking on the water she’d forgotten to swallow. The man rubbed her back as she gathered herself.

“We found you with that at the temple,” he began to explain. Her hand began to pulse brightly. The man took the cup from her as her hand began to send out sparks. She grasped the marked hand with her free hand, crying out in pain. It was like a hot serrated dagger was scraping across her skin. “Hold still.” He put his hand on hers and the agony dulled. She caught her breath, still aghast by the sight.

She looked to address the elf. “Irene,” she said, her voice unsteady and weak.

He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, someone barked out, “Solas!” A heavily armored woman with dark short hair stood outside the cell looking in. The crest of the Seekers on her breastplate and a large shield on her back, the woman was clearly in charge here. The thick Nevarran accent was apparent when she ordered, “Leave us.” A look of sympathy in his eyes, Solas nodded to her and stood up to leave.

“Wait!” Irene called to him with her good hand reaching out. He kept walking.

“Guards, secure her,” the Seeker commanded before walking away. Her hand began to spark again as the soldiers grabbed her unkindly by the arms and put her in shackles. They pulled her up to her feet and walked her out of the cell. She was left in the middle of the hallway on her knees chained to the floor with four soldiers standing around her, their swords pointed at her. That Seeker and elf were nowhere to be found.

The soldiers were unflinching as she sat with her own thoughts. Irene didn’t know what had happened to land her here. There was… the Conclave. Her father’s mission for her. She remembered following someone, but couldn’t remember who or why. Was it a target? No. She wasn’t here to kill anyone.

Her hand began to crackle angrily. _What curse is this?_ _What happened?_ she wondered. Curiously she turned her palm up but all too soon, in a bright green fury, it shot pain up her arm and into her very being. She howled hoarsely at the torment it thoughtlessly inflicted upon her.

The door flew open, revealing the already familiar silhouette of the Seeker. Her hands were in fists, face blank but brown eyes intense. Behind her was a hooded woman; hints of a pale face and short auburn hair were revealed in the scarce light. The soldiers sheathed their swords as the Seeker walked over. The two women began to circle her. Of the two of them, the woman in the hood seemed to be far more collected.

At her side, the irate Seeker growled, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Irene felt herself begin to tremble. She had no answer other than _I don’t know_ , and she knew that wouldn’t cut it. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” Irene just blinked, too aghast to properly react. _Dead? Absolutely everyone?_ she wondered. What would even be a way to react that even respected the gravity of the situation? The Seeker now stood in front of her again. Irene could make out her strong jaw and scar running down her face. “Except for you.”

“That isn’t possible.” Her voice was shivering in disbelief.  
The Seeker leaned over and grabbed her sparking hand. “Explain this!” she shouted into Irene’s face. Irene felt the gust of her hot angry breath on her cheeks.

As fear began to boil hotter within her the mark on her hand reacted with her, hissing louder and pulsing brightly. “I… I… can’t!”

“What do you _mean_ you can’t?” she shouted back, hand on her sword pommel.

“I don’t know what _that_ is!” she cried back. “Or how it got there—”

The seeker grabbed her by the collar, her eyes burning with a furor Irene hadn’t known the likes of before. “YOU’RE LYING!” Irene whimpered at the woman’s grasp, eyes shut tightly, too scared and weak to even fight against her.

The grasp relented in an instant. She looked to see the other woman pulling the Seeker away. “We need her Cassandra!” she said. Her Orlesian accent was light and sharp. The seeker named Cassandra backed away to stand by the door. The Orlesian stood before her, hands behind her back. “We know of your affiliation to the Trevelyans,” she coolly began. “What do you do for them? Why are you here?”

Irene murmured out a scoff, “What do I do for the Trevelyans?” The woman’s interest was piqued by Irene’s sudden snark; she moved her hands to her hips, a hint of a grin on her face. Irene returned the grin; her chest puffed out and shoulders back best she could while being bound. “I _am_ a Trevelyan.”

“Oh?” She spoke with condescending disbelief. “And which one? You don’t look like any Trevelyan I’ve heard of.”

“I have my father’s blue eyes,” Irene argued with confidence. “My mother Gabriela’s olive skin and cupid’s bow. Her long dark hair…” The woman laughed. Irene saw Cassandra behind her smirking. “The hell are you laughing at?” she hissed at her captors.

Cassandra snapped her posture back at attention and cleared her throat. “Show her, Leliana.” Leliana knelt down to Irene’s level and reached for her long braid, holding it up for Irene to see.

Irene gasped as Leliana let it drop over her shoulder. It was not her hair. It was whiter than a halla’s coat. “What sick joke—”

Cassandra moved up to Leliana’s side. “It turned white shortly after our soldiers found you.” Irene beamed down at the braid hanging. “I assure you this is no farce, rogue.”

Irene was quick to correct her. “Trevelyan.” Right now she was her name, not a common title. Perhaps it would save her skin.

Leliana smirked as she stood to tower over Irene. Addressing Cassandra, Leliana said, “I believe her.” Irene glanced up at Cassandra. Her hard face seemed to have softened momentarily. She nodded briefly to her. It seemed to have satisfied Cassandra. “Lady Trevelyan.” Irene looked up at her to see her lips were turned down, almost in an apology. Leliana continued. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Irene squeezed her eyes shut. “I was following… someone…” She exhaled shortly in frustration. “But then I remember running. Things were chasing me… I wasn’t at the Conclave anymore.” She opened her eyes to find Cassandra listening intently, her pupils wide and stare intense. “And… a woman?” It was all so hard to recall. Memories fought to stay foggy. All they gave her was the memory of this vague entity, crying something out to her that even in her own thoughts she couldn’t understand. “She reached out to me, but then...”

Cassandra turned to Leliana, placing an arm on her shoulder to turn her towards the door. Her voice went deeper; set and determined. “Go to the forward camp Leliana.” Leliana nodded. Cassandra turned to Irene, hand on her sword pommel. “I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana promptly departed as Cassandra stooped down to unlock Irene’s shackles from the floor, rebinding her hands with rope.

“What _did_ happen?" When Cassandra met her eyes Irene truly believed that perhaps the Seeker now believed her. A profound sadness twinkled in her eyes. Cassandra averted from Irene’s gaze as she helped her up.

“It… will be easier if I show you.”

Irene was let upstairs into the Chantry hall, only barely ignored by the people working inside. A large door opened, letting the chilly air wrap around Irene. She stepped outside with Cassandra behind her. A familiar bright flash of green lit up the skies. A maelstrom of sickly green stirred above the mountain.

“We call it the breach.” Cassandra was looking up at it. Her voice was solemn, almost defeatist disguised as monotone. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows with each passing hour.” She turned to Irene, looking down at her hand. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest.” Irene couldn’t look away as she clenched her jaw, glaring at the thing in concealed terror. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Irene felt breathless. “An explosion…” She shook her head gently. “Can’t do that…”

“This one did.” Cassandra stood in front of her, the breach hanging over her head. “And unless we act, it may swallow the world.”

Caught off guard, Irene was on her knees in an instant, wailing at the pain in her arm. The mark was hissing with the rift thundering with it. She held up her hand like it was gravitating to the rift. With much effort she clenched her fist, drawing it back against her abdomen, curled over in pain. Cassandra hurried down to kneel in front of her.

“Each time the breach expands…” She pointed to Irene’s hand. “Your mark spreads.” Irene clenched her fist harder, growling with the waves of pain. “And it _is_ killing you.” She believed Cassandra on that one. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Irene whimpered, hot tears rolling down her face. “You think I did this…” she hissed through clenched teeth. “To _myself_?”

“Not intentionally. Something went wrong.”

Irene muttered through chattering teeth. “Obviously.” Cassandra let out a snort and pulled Irene to her feet. Through Haven they went, Irene attempting the impossible task of avoiding the stare of an entire village. People stopped in the middle of what they were doing to glare and gawk. Some were crying, others hissing to each other choice words about her. Irene simply looked at the ground as Cassandra guided her.

“They’ve already decided your guilt. They need it,” Cassandra needlessly explained. Guards and Chantry sisters folded their arms and scowled as she passed. “Justinia is gone. Our chance at peace between mages and Templars…”

“I know,” Irene said shortly, looking up and ahead as they cleared the village. They walked for a few minutes with silence between them, the chaotic noise still permeating the valley.

“In grief we lash out like the sky…” Cassandra looked back up the mountain towards the breach and back down the road to the gate. The guards opened the doors for her and Cassandra slowed to a halt on the bridge. She turned to Irene, her expression still hard and her eyes further saddened. She pulled out a dagger and cut Irene loose. “But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did.”

Irene rubbed her wrists, sore from being bounded. “What do I even do?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the breach.” Cassandra led her ahead across the bridge. “Open the gate! We are heading into the valley.” The soldiers obeyed and Cassandra motioned forward. Irene hastily caught up with her, running up a hill between patches of fire and chevaux de frise. At the hill’s crest she could see the breach in its fully glory hanging above the smoking ruins of the temple. She couldn’t have done this. She hadn’t the mind or power for it.

A familiar and unrelenting feeling consumed Irene once more. “Ahh!” she screamed, hand unwillingly reaching out towards the green storm above. Her body felt nauseated and faint simply trying to cope with the pain as she fell to the ground, hardly remembering to even breathe. Just before the pain ceased Cassandra pulled her up by the arm. She got her footing despite the debilitating agony surging through her, thanks to the Seeker’s help.

Cassandra held Irene up with her hands on the mage’s arms. It was almost comforting. “The pulses are coming faster now.” Cassandra sounded apologetic.

Irene gulped and looked past the seeker and up the hill to the next gate. They began to jog further down the road. Irene’s hand sparked as they went but she ignored the pain it dealt.

Over the wind Irene called to her companion, “How did I survive?”

“They said you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious.” They made it to the next gate and slowed. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

“I don’t remember…” Irene bit her lip as she began to cross another bridge at Cassandra’s side. Fiery balls of green energy began to rain out from the rift in the sky. She shielded her eyes as she walked, realizing far too late that it was headed right for her. All at once the stones beneath her started to fall away with the jolt from the bolt crashing down in front of her. She felt Cassandra grab her, but it was of little use as they both fell with the rubble.

Irene opened her eyes, thankful that the only stinging she felt was from the river’s solid ice against her cheek. Gingerly she stood up, trying to get her bearings and looked to Cassandra. She’d landed more gracefully than Irene and had already gotten up with her weapon drawn. The breach roared again, lightning sending out more bolts of the sickly green energy across the valley. One crashed a little down the river. From the green scar the bolt left on the ground monsters from the fade crawled out. A creature that she’d only known of in her worst dreams proudly elevated itself above its minions, screaming loudly as spikes of green and gray were pulled up below it.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra charged forward at the creature. Irene quickly realized she could not obey. Green slithered through the ice, bubbling up to unleash more creatures, separating Irene from Cassandra. A shade had emerged, its sights set only on her, screaming in evil glee as it approached. Irene tried to look for a way out, but with the destroyed bridge behind her and cliffs for riverbanks on her sides, there was nowhere to go.

In the rubble to her side she saw a deceased mage next to his staff. _If the seeker doesn’t know now_ , she thought. _…Then she will soon_. The shade swung at her, hurling a gust of evil magic at her. Irene dodged it, ducking as she ran to the mage. It hissed and followed her. She swiped up the wooden staff as she ran away. Several of the demon’s lackeys had escaped Cassandra and motioned towards Irene. She took a breath and held up her staff over her head with both hands, summoning the magic within her has she twirled it above. The shade raised its arm to cast at her, but Irene slammed the bottom of the staff back down into the ice, sending bright blue lightning up through all of the creatures around them. Bringing the staff in front of her, she pointed it at the shade to send bolts of fire its way. One by one the creatures of the fade fell, succumbing to Irene’s power.

Cassandra was withdrawing her blade from the demon’s chest when Irene caught up with her.

“It’s over,” Irene panted as she looked around for more creatures. Cassandra turned to Irene, her movements sudden with her sword drawn.

“Drop your weapon,” she commanded with her mouth almost in a snarl. “Now.”

Irene was not about to do that. “You know I’d probably be dead if I wasn’t so lucky as to find this.” The Seeker furrowed her brows, but didn’t budge. Their gazes were locked with each other; trying to will the other into submission. “And I don’t need a staff to kill you. I don’t even need a weapon or magic, probably.”

Cassandra let out a loud sigh. “You’re right.” She relented, sheathing her sword. “I cannot protect you.” Irene followed Cassandra who had promptly turned to go further down the river.  “I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

She had no smart answer to toss back at Cassandra. Irene considered no part of this whole situation willing. Terrified, Irene looked down at her hand as she felt her lip tremble, then looked back up to the sky. There was no turning back if she tried. Without a word they went to fight their way to the breach.


End file.
